I am indifferent when it comes to shopping.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve bought something and loved it so much I would find any opportunity to wear it.

I can’t remember ever buying something that I would wash in the delicate cycle or take out to get dry cleaned.

In my office, anything including jewelry or high heels is extremely overdressed.

I have a hard time finding myself anything that I really like and can justify the expenditure. Everything is so damn expensive – or at least to me. I mean, spending more than forty dollars on a pair of pants pains me. I think of all the other things I could/should be using it for. Like a credit card payment, dinner, clothes for the kids. My mind spins with these other needs to the point it makes me feel ill and I leave empty handed.

With my fat ass being heavier (even though I’ve lost just over 20 pounds in the past 4 months), trendy, cute clothes are all so tricky to find: something that covers my rolls; works to accentuate the good stuff and hide the bad; is comfortable; is not too expensive… COMES IN LARGE ENOUGH SIZES… it’s really just more trouble than I have patience for.

Grabbing a size I think is right and heading to the change room, which seems to be lit by 1,000 watt blubs and reflects off the three-sided mirrors, to stuff myself in to said item only to find that it’s actually too small is not my idea of a good time. So, I try and convince myself that I’m still losing weight and buying something would just be a waste because I (hopefully) won’t be able to wear it after a few months.

But damn, people. Lately, I have really wanted to shop. But… I think I’ve forgotten how…

I am seeing clothes as fun! and exciting! again. For years I have lived with hiding my body under thick turtleneck sweaters, layers of clothing and simple items so not to draw too much attention to myself. I am sick of it. I am sick of hiding. I am sick of being uncomfortable in my own skin.

Shortsleeve Tops by Givenchy
Pumps by Jimmy Choo

Clothing images link to my Stylesense account, feel free to click through if you like. May help me get closer to getting my very own pair of Jimmy Choo’s!

Now, I am feeling slightly more confident, slightly braver, and proud of my results. I am trying to branch out from my typical boring look – of t-shirts and jeans – but I’m finding it hard to put things together. I don’t even know where to start. Where to shop, what to look for, deals to be had; I truly suck at this.

Cocktail Dresses by Valentino
Platforms by Michael Antonio

I need to find myself a style guru. I need someone to hold my hand, pass me clothes over the change room door, accessorize me, then pat me on the head and tell me everything is going to be alright.

Oh, and if the came with an open-ended credit card and a proper bra fitting, I would be in heaven.

Random Posts

• Sick and Tired don’t even Cover it
• Full Circle
• Greet the dawn, you know, without killing someone….

A Manhattan condo is a dream of mine.

Hell, a Toronto condo wouldn’t be bad either.

But, Manhattan. The Big Apple, The City That Never Sleeps, New York: that’s where I belong. The fast pace, the activity, the multiculturalism: it’s all perfect. Yes, much like Toronto, but on a much grander scale.

Until a couple weeks ago, it’s was 13 years since my last visit as a scrawny 16-year-old teenager. We went on a trip, my best friend and I, for her birthday. Her mom and aunt as our chaperones. The city was different then. The people a little less friendly, the cabbies a little more crass, the streets a little less welcoming.

Since my visit all those years ago, things have changed. Considerably. The once stereotypical cold-hearted concrete jungle is alive and thriving despite its more recent tragedies. New York makes me happy. It makes me feel alive.

The purpose of my trip, BlogHer’s annual conference, where I spent less than 20 minutes partaking in any conference-related activities (aside from some running, expo-ing and parties), because Dude? I was in New York. It really wasn’t deliberate. I had every intention of participating in some Room of Your Owns, lunches and breakfasts, but in the end, the streets were calling me.

No, not like that.

I felt this incredible GUILT for being stuffed away in a (freezing) hotel ballroom while New York City was outside! I couldn’t fight it. The bustling subway, the smell of street meat mixed with musty stale humidity. Appetizing, right? It smells much better than you would think.

When I planned my trip bought my tickets back in April, I assumed 5 days would be sufficient.

Hell, I didn’t even think I was going to be able to swing this trip at all until I won a sponsorship from Twenty70 Hosting.

I planned to arrive early on Wednesday, Conference and then do tourist things until Sunday evening, but I had conveniently forgot that IT WAS NEW YORK CITY. There is NEVER enough time for New York. Of all the things I had on my list of must-see/must-do, I think I crossed off three.

Jackson Pollock at MoMA

All those *missed* opportunities – like seeing the Statue of Liberty, walking down Wall Street, going to the Empire State Building (again) – were filled with amazing experiences I would never trade in a million years. I mean, it’s not often I have an opportunity to see some of the most amazing friends I’ve ever met who just happen to be living in my computer.

Me and my Casey (@mooshinindy)

Me and Angie (@alotofnothing), photo belonging to Angie.

Miss Emily (@designhermomma)

My new BFF, Kim (@kimorlandini)

For me, New York wouldn’t have been the same without them. Without many of you. A chance meeting as we entered and exited elevators, seeking people out via text and twitter, a quick hug as we pass by: it’s all too surreal, having all those people you know right there at the same time. People, who though so different from each other have very similar likes. People who get it, and aren’t annoyed by the constant glow of backlight from a smartphone while one checks twitter, or facebooks a friend.

Though I had such great experiences this year, I was burdened by thoughts of last years conference where I witnessed first hand the downward spiral of our writing community.

This community, our community, used to be more about personal reflection and memoir-style blogging, as Cecily wrote just yesterday. That’s where I started, and where I still feel most comfortable; but as she pointed out, we’re a dying breed – and I think that’s why I have been having such a hard time maintaining this site.

Since BlogHer in Chicago last year, after I witnessed the onslaught of our own community members whoring themselves out for a couple free dildos and rubber shoes, I’ve resented what this community has become. I only really just got that today after reading Cecily’s post. I just want our old community back, but also am not obilivous to the fact that this vortex of consumption, need and one-upping has become the way of the future. Book deals, television appearances, brand ambassadors, review sites and giveaways are the new Memoir-style blogging, and as much as I’d love to see the dinosaurs make a comeback I think those days are gone.

Now is where we, I, decide to either shit of get off the pot. Do I keep plugging along and blogging about me, my faults, my life, my triumphs, my failures while throwing a couple reviews and giveaways into the mix to appease the masses?

I was hoping that this conference was going to catapult me past this resentment. Past this uncomfortable-ness in my own blog.

But it hasn’t.

Instead, it’s renewed my idea of friendship, love and companionship. It has reminded me that there are handfuls of people I would – and could – spend every single day with, and that I have met them because of this community.

Me and Mishelle (@secretagentmama), taken by Mishelle

No amount of swag, promises of Blog Fame, or traffic will change what you mean to me.

For a moment, you were there. And in a New York minute, you were gone. Back in my computer.

And that, friends, is what THIS is all about.

• Why friends probably shouldn’t work together (Read: Shit, we really need an accountant)
• Pants Optional
• Clouded

After hitting publish on my last post, I cried.

I cried because I was scared, worried, anxious about reactions I may receive. Not so much about the pictures, though they were pretty hard for me to post, but that I felt completely exposed. Not only did I divulge into how my messed up brain works, but combine that with a couple of pictures of my flabby mom-post-baby-two-years-ago belly, which. Dude? Ouch.

I kinda worried you were going to think I was being an attention seeking douchebag by going on about Boo! I don’t see any results! I suck!. For anyone who has read this site for any amount of time, I would think they know that’s not how I roll. I am straight to the point. I share those deep, dark, parts because even though I think I’m alone with some of the demons I face, I know there are others out there who fight something similar. I share because a) I can’t keep my mouth shut and b) I am an open book.

I’ve been accused of lacking soft skills, which okay, sure. Sometimes I can be a little crass. *ahem* But I see no reason for bullshitting you. I don’t sugar coat things because, really? Who wants to deal with that shit? Some people find my straightforwardness cold and intimidating, but that’s not who I am. Sometimes I am shy, quiet and timid when faced with situations I am uncomfortable with. I don’t like attention.

This weight loss journey has brought more attention my way. People notice my hard work, congratulate me, and I get all hot and turn bright red. I am grateful that people notice, but I suck at receiving compliments.

But I like compliments.

It’s a vicious circle, really.

And when you see me at BlogHer, I may appear to be a little standoff-ish, but I’m really not. I am waiting for you to approach me because I’m scared you’ll reject me when I introduce myself. I may smile at you, but not say anything because I usually sound like an idiot when I try small talk. Just give me a chance, because I really can be fun!

:::

The winner of my book giveaway has been chosen and will be notified shortly, thanks for participating!

Random Posts

• Casey
• Getting it together
• For Your Editing Pleasure

I’ve been reluctant to share my progress during this weight loss journey.

Okay, so not really, I mean, if you’ve been following my twitter feed you’ve likely witness diarrhea of the mouth when it comes to talking about working out.

After professing my love for Kristen Chase and Jillian Michaels’ 30-day Shred a year ago, I gave in to my emotional eating habits while I went through returning to work, daycare troubles, a move, bouts of depression, and everyday stresses only to gain an additional 10 pounds.

But even though I’ve shared so many ups and downs on this site, there’s something about sharing my progress in photos. That’s where I wig out. Pictures of progress are an ENTIRELY different issue for me. No matter how great my progress has been, like: I’m down almost 2 pant sizes and 17 pounds in the past 3 months; I can (FINALLY!) run 25 minutes (roughly 4km) without walking; I can swim laps (breast stroke) for an hour; I have more energy than I have in YEARS; I’ve been off antidepressants for almost six months; and I am happier, more positive than I have been in a long time, and I still feel like I could – should – have better results by now.

I’m not on The Biggest Loser, I’m not competing for anything; I’m doing this for me. For a lifestyle change, yet I feel like I should be seeing these drastic results.

Running and swimming – but especially running – have been huge releases for me. My stress levels are down, I’m sleeping better and – wait for it … I am ENJOYING working out. This is such a huge deal for me since the past 10 years I have lived a sedentary lifestyle.

But! - Oh the but! –  whenever I look at a progress picture, I see so much work which needs to be done. I hate that I focus on The Bad! and can’t (or don’t) revel in The Good! Mike gets frustrated with me when I point out the fact that my arm fat still dangles like the jowls of a Mastiff. He insists that if I don’t stop focusing on The Bad I will sabotage my progress, which I know is true, but is it possible to ever stop?

I digress.

I look at these images and barely see a difference.

I know I’ve done well. Damn well. Three months ago, I was in a completely different place in my life. I was wallowing in self pity, stressed to the max, bored with my life, and angry at everyone and everything –  not to mention 17 pounds heavier.

I keep trying to remind myself I didn’t get this big overnight. It took me 10 years, two pregnancies, bad food choices, no exercise and turning a blind eye to gain the almost 60 pounds I’ve been carrying.

I still have a lot of the same stress factors in my life, but I am managing them better. I now have this release for my frustration and stress.

I have something that is completely about me.

And I have results.

No matter how many times I dissect these photos and point out what work I still have, I know I have made progress; not only physically, but mentally.

Random Posts

• wordless wednesday #5
• On Popping My (Conference Call) Cherry
• What a weekend!

As a teenager, my relationship with my mother was anything but pleasant. Living in a home with the two of us must have been hell. Me, constantly wanting, her, constantly resisting. Typical mother, teenaged daughter-type relationship really.

Things became significantly more harried as I began to “date” an older boy. I say “date” because well, I was weeks from my sixteenth birthday, he just turned nineteen – and already had a girlfriend with whom he stayed while we “dated”.

I know. So wrong, but I was fifteen! I blame the Whore Moans hormones, because really? Hot older boy liked me!

My mom knew something was going on even though I insisted we were just friends. No matter how many times I tried to convince her otherwise, the evening phone calls which lasted HOURS upon HOURS screamed the opposite. The conversation about safe sex really never came, though there were instances which warranted it: sneaking out at night, coming in past curfew, wreaking of alcohol and cigarettes when I came home from “watching a movie at a friend’s house”. I thought I was living the high life. Then. Now, I think she knew I was reaching and was going to be hurt by this boy, but she let me learn. She let me test the waters and only when I stepped out of line was I reigned in and given a stern talking to.

I would push all limits. I would take advantage of her generosity. I would give less and expect more. I would ignore her rules.

My mom used to tell me she wished me a daughter. She wanted me to know what it was like; I don’t blame her.

Our relationship was pretty strained until I moved out at eighteen and went away to college. I think it was a blessing for both of us – and saved our relationship. As I’ve grown, had children of my own, I’ve come to realize the sacrifices she’s made for my brother and I. In retrospect I can see just how lenient she really was about many things – disobedience not being one of them. Like any parent, she did her best to raise polite, respectful children who knew right from wrong. And just like any child, I did my best to push her buttons and defy boundaries.

I see it in my children already. At almost five and two, they push, they defy, and they test.

Even though they’re boys, I think I have seen a glimpse into my future.

My mom just may get her wish.

Either that, or Karma really is a cruel, cruel bitch.

:::

This post was inspired by the book If You Knew Suzy by Katherine Rosman, which was our From Left to Write Book Club read for July. From Left to Write is a book club which was once part of the Silicon Valley Moms Blog family.

I have received no compensation except for a free copy of the book which I will giveaway to one lucky commentator. My copy is in mint condition with the expection of a few folded pages.

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• That Girl.
• timing counts for everything, even sex

I changed my design in hopes it would give me a refreshed outlook on blogging. It was a hasty decision brought on by the stagnant, putrid smell emanating from this site. Each and every time I’ve come here to try to write something I’d feel stifled by the lack of fresh content and the inescapable need to post something.

The Guilt.

Guilt that I haven’t been writing, guilt that there are more things which need my attention and the fact that writing can easily be put off.

I haven’t felt anything for this site in a long time. I’ve toyed with changing names but each time I think I have a new one that original! fun! and awesome! I find that either someone has the domain or the twitter ID has been squatted on by some 11-year-old shit disturber that has written all of four words EIGHT MONTHS AGO and has shit on a perfectly good ID that will likely sit forever until Twitter decides it is high time they started erasing unused IDs.

Also? Where are that kid’s parents?! Don’t they know only perverts, old people and bloggers use twitter?

Wait. What?

I digress.

So instead of moving on and leaving this place to rot, I’ve decided to attempt to revive it and try again make a half-assed attempt at blogging again.

There’s a couple new features to help you search for when I used to write.

I think I’m in the process of removing ads from the site.

I am not wearing any pants.

Aaaaand… we’ll see what happens…

P.S. If you’re here in any browser other than Firefox, I have NO idea what you’re seeing right now since I haven’t even opened another browser to do a check. That can wait until morning.

Besides. What the HELL are you still doing using Internet Explorer?

**Updated: Threaded comments doesn’t seem to be working with Thesis 1.7. They’ve done some changes to the comment file and now it doesn’t render the same. Hoping for a fix soon!

• Internet Reciprocation
• Defection
• I Can’t Even Glue Popsicle Sticks Together Gracefully

I remember being so intimidated by my peers who were members of the local track club and trained for running events while I would show up in my thick cotton jogging shorts and ratty runners. I stuck out like a sore thumb amidst those well-groomed track athletes and their perfectly pressed running uniforms and expensive track shoes. I would stay bundled up in my sweatshirt and jogging pants, while they sauntered around in their little cliques with matching track outfits. I was so jealous of their status, as if the fact that they were part of a track and field club made them The Elite.

Okay, I digress. They kind of were. I mean, a handful of them, over the years, were named to the National team and went on to compete in PamAm Games, and Olympic Games but whatever.

I never trained outside of gym class or our school track meets. I remember *competing* in grade nine gym class, basically just fucking around, when the coach for the track team approached me after a 100 metre sprint. He asked me to come to tryouts and see if I was interested in joining the team. Sprinting was always my forte, it was quick. Not a drawn out marathon run requiring loop after loop on the school’s crappy gravel/sand track. I figured that was something I had to train for, and I was all about fast and easy.

Needless to say, I didn’t really excel in track and field. I mean, not to brag, but I did manage to hold my own against some of those elitists, but eventually I gave up. Afterall, track wasn’t one of the cool sports like basketball, volleyball or soccer…

I think that sigma of running stuck with me: it’s a club. A club that is hard to get into and only the strong will survive. Up until a few months ago, I envisioned that track club and how little and insignificant they made me feel.

Then something sorta clicked: I wanted to run.

I wanted to train to be a better runner.

I wanted to run distance; to take those seemingly endless loops around the school track.

Okay, so I don’t run on the track. Though the one at the school near me is very worthy – if it wasn’t overrun with hot much-too-young-boys and high school track stars. Ahem.)

If you’re following me on twitter (Um. Hello?! Follow me!)  or Facebook, I’ve probably overrun your feed with my Couch to 5k updates as I’ve been working towards a 5K run at BlogHer this August (where I will run in a tutu for Tanner). My goal is to run the whole thing; and at first I thought I would never succeed, but I’m getting closer and closer to doing it, people! The other night I completed the dreaded 20 minute non-stop run.

I was so anxious about the whole thing, but I persevered and made it through!

(Tomorrow is the 25 minute non-stop run, I am scared. Again. LOL)

But! I am training. I am succeeding and I am so proud of myself. I can’t even tell you what this means to me.

I am more confident than ever I will run the whole 5K in August.

If not for me, for Tanner.

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Free time has been scarce lately.

I think I need someone to schedule my life.

I would say I am a multi-tasker, though Mike would disagree. He says I start something and leave it to start something else. I just think I know he just doesn’t understand the term Multi-tasking. Because seriously? Give him more than one set of instructions Ask him to do more than one thing at a time and his eye glaze over.

I’ll say something like, “Please take the recycling to the garage and while you’re there, do you mind hanging your bike up and closing the garage door?”

Eyes? Glazed.

Me? I see it as a complete waste of time and energy not to do all those things at the same time. You’re there… just do it.

But I digress.

Needless to say, my multi-tasking is somewhat of a sore spot in our home.

But I can’t survive without it. Nothing would get done.

This morning for instance:

Carter woke up early so I let him watch a show while I finished getting ready. I grabbed him some clean clothes from the dryer as I unloaded it, then moved last night’s wash over which I put in right before heading to bed. I handed him his clothes so he could dress while watching his show. I folded some clothes while searching for the top I decided to wear while I was straightening my hair – which was heating up while I was putting on my make-up. I found my top, left the remaining clothes to be folded this evening, grabbed Carter and we went to wake up Hudson.

Got Hudson dressed and moved to the kitchen where I gave them yogurt while we waited for the toast to pop. Handed them toast with cheese slices and orange juice while I got my Shreddies out. Ate Shreddies while I paid the latest bills from my iPhone and then loaded the dishwasher.

7:05 am, headed out the door with my lunch (left overs from dinner) in my purse, and a toddler under the other arm while Carter chatted about how his classroom was set up like a campground.

Not bad for being 5 minutes behind schedule.

Still, I feel like I could be more efficient.

I think in order to free up some more evening space (to fold that laundry I’ve left behind, fit in a 30 minute run after I get the kids to bed, and tidy up a little, and work for clients) I have to start running in the morning.

That freaks me out.

I hate mornings.

Like HATE.

My alarm is set for 20 minutes before I get up because it takes me that long to just do it… maybe if I just hauled my ass outta bed the first time, I could do get a workout or a run in?

I need ideas, friends. How can I break generations of non-morning risers (seriously, it’s in my blood!) and become someone (ha! I wrote something first and then changed it) that loves to greet the dawn?

You know, without killing someone.

• I didn’t get this fat overnight, right?
• On Wanting It All
• Failed

Remember how I said I didn’t have the time or the energy to carry the weight of the internet and its our troubles on my shoulders? How I said I was thinking of letting some stupid corporation bully me into relinquishing my rights to a domain I purchased?

Ya. About that.

The more I thought about why I was willing to let Cosco Management Inc. bully me into handing over my domain, the more pissed off I became. Pissed off at myself more than them. Let me explain. The issue here is not really that of carrying the internet’s burden on my shoulders. The issue? Is failure. *My* failure. See, I have this fail-safe mechanism that kicks in whenever I’m faced with a daunting task. My reasoning is that if I don’t fight, I can’t be upset if I lose. In this case, if I don’t fight for my principles, I can’t feel guilty that I’ve taken time from my family, and spent money we didn’t have in the first place (which I found out, I don’t have to pay a dime to respond to the dispute… so YAY!). Like with exercising: for the longest time I avoided it so I wasn’t let down when I put HOURS into workouts only to see little change in the scale. Or taking years to begin the filing process for accreditation in my field…

I fear stepping outside the box for risk of failure.

Faced with the daunting task of reading the eight emails containing attachment after attachment, page after page, where Cosco Management Inc.’s (owner’s of Cosco, Dorel Juvenile Group, Safety 1st, Eddie Bauer, Quinny, Maxi-Cosi, Hoppop, and trademark holders for Baby on Board – which they haven’t done a great job protecting in the first place… )  lawyer laid out – quite intelligently (Heh.), why I am a delinquent,  trademark-infringing, cyber-squatting, domain stealer, feeding upon the innocence of on-line shoppers who are deceived dumb so uneducated they don’t know the difference between BORED and BOARD, I panicked.

That’s just about the awesomest run-on sentence ever. Take it in, people.

I panicked because: 1) I just don’t have the time. 2) Legal is like Shakespeare to me: The more I try to understand it, the more I second guess what I’m comprehending. 3) BUT WHAT IS THIS GOING TO COST MEEEEEEE!?

When I wrote about my tales of woe, I was shocked to see the responses, emails and offers of help and support. Those that have offered to help know I am extremely grateful, but I had a hard time accepting that support because I feel I as though I am taking those people away from other important tasks in their lives to help me fight a losing battle.

But I took a leap of faith.

I put my trust into strangers friends, and took them up on their offers to help. I am currently working with a lawyer, Evan Brown (@internetcases on twitter) who took time out of his busy lawyer-y schedule to help me file my Response. I don’t know if it’s the accent (which he says I have, but I’m certain it’s him), but I get this sense of calm from Evan. After our conversation the other day I felt much more secure in my decision to file a response at all.

So, we’re responding. We’re fighting. Not because we’ll win or get anything out of this, but because I feel it’s important. Not for the domain itself -  neither Stef or I care if they get it – but because even though I may be fighting a David and Goliath-type battle, I know in my heart that I can’t just let them walk all over me. I know when I think about it years down the road I will be angry with myself for letting them get away with pushing people around just for the fuck of it. I mean, if they had a solid case it may be a different story, but dude? Did you see their evidence?

Goliath is taking one in the shins this time, people.

:::

Also? I am totally boycotting all those companies from now on. I am torching everything I own that is Cosco Management Inc. related (even though was I really want to do is ship it all back to them, ripe with week old diapers and my response to the dispute. Too bad I’ve been advised against it…) and telling everyone who will listen to me about this bullshit.

I urge you to stand up and fight. This is just one instance of a corporation bullying the little guy because they feel they are entitled. We have to stand up for ourselves because you could be next…

{image source}

• Sued!

I turned 29 on the 16th.

I’m indifferent about it.

I’m no longer a teenager, I’m not a fun! and party animal! twenty-year-old club-goer, and I’m not yet 30.

I’m in limbo. I’m at the point where there is really nothing considerably interesting about my age. I haven’t reached the Top of The Hill and I’m not Over The Hill. I’m just here, mid-point (okay, maybe not mid, but it feels like it) of my adult life.

I think I’m having my Quarter Life Crisis.

I’ve begun second guessing some major choices in my life, mainly my career and where I’m going – or not going – with it. Lately I feel as though I am stuck. I’m not going up, down or even laterally. I dread sitting at my desk, day in and day out. There’s nothing stimulating about my work anymore and I feel it’s because I’ve been pigeon-holed into a position that I really have no desire for. I feel as though I have to settle for it because of my children. Yes, I said it; and I know that’s such a shitty – and cliché – thing to say, but sometimes that’s how I feel, particularly in my office where I am currently the only parent who is the primary caregiver. Don’t get me wrong, they are very understanding (to a point), but I feel – actually, I know – that the fact my kids are my number one concern has held me back from opportunities which would have played a significant part in advancing my career. I don’t regret having my kids, or when I had them; they are the most important people in my life, but I would be lying if I said they didn’t affect the course my career has taken. It’s reality – especially for a woman in the construction industry, still one of the most manliest trades.

My company provides decent health care benefits and some great perks, and I fear that if I were to leave I wouldn’t receive the same benefits or compensation elsewhere. That in of itself scares me out of taking a chance and either going back to school or just looking for something different. If I were in my early twenties and still childless, I think I would be less concerned about being out of work, but I can’t possibly leave my job without something else. Not because we can’t downsize our bills, sell a car or divert some of our spending, but because *I* would panic daily HOURLY, about the future and what could/would/may happen if we were to be down to a single income family.

I want to find something that makes me happy again. Getting back into exercising regularly had made me realize that I haven’t seen myself in years. I have been just a shell. A miserable, lazy, self-conscious and bored person.

I want more.

I need more.

• Rejection, Dejection.
• On a Benylin High
• And The World Keeps Spinning